


and it's just the sun and your skin and the taste of the sea

by zeraparker



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Exhibitionism, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: Jean-Eric isn't sure where on the island exactly they are, how long it will take them to go back to Elia, but he is comfortable in the near-darkness, the sky alight with so many more stars than he's used to seeing anywhere else.“I'm grateful for this,” he admits into the darkness, continuing when he hears Andre's questioning hum. “For this year. For the team.” He pauses, but they're alone under the endless sky and he knows they should acknowledge what's going on at one point. “For you.”____Jeandre on Mykonos.





	and it's just the sun and your skin and the taste of the sea

**Author's Note:**

> I must say a big thank you to all you amazing Jeandre writers out there! I love the stories posted here so so so much, they're all such high quality, and I just wanted to give a little back. I've been sitting on this for a couple weeks now and I'm still not sure whether I like how it came out, the pacing seems all off and for it being just smut there's way too much feelings in there but oh well. I just really wanted to write again after not having written for over a year, and these two have taken my heart. So yeah, this one is for all of you who also love these two so much. Have fun.

The windows are open, allowing the sea breeze to play through the gauze curtains. It's still early and the air is fresh, balm on Jean-Eric's frayed nerves. He's lying on the wide bed on top of the covers. There's a patch of sunlight slowly creeping across the sheets, heating up his skin where it shines onto him until it's too hot to stand and he moves his arm, his leg out of the way, a slow chase across the width of the blanket.

He curls his fingers into the sheets. Maybe it's the hangover that's been clouding his head every morning almost since the race in New York, the short stint of the last WEC round only a weird blink in the weeks of celebrations now. It still hasn't sunk in; it still doesn't feel real, not even with the party crowd asleep all over the huge mansion they're currently staying at, his friends, his team, the sponsored bottles of champagne and other alcohol they've been drowning in for days now. His ears are ringing with the noise of the last days, even now that he's alone, awake despite the early hour and the short night that hasn't felt restful at all. A couple more days now before they have to leave the Greek island, and diffuse anxiety about what awaits him when he goes home, to the solitude of his flat in London and the return to a work schedule is already spreading in the back of his head.

Jean-Eric's eyes roam over the high ceiling, the whiteness allowing dots to swim in his vision, deepening the queasy feeling in his stomach. What if he finally wakes up to find all that has happened nothing more than an ongoing hallucination? Everything feels surrounded by cotton, fuzzy around the edges. He should definitely drink less.

A soft knock on the door catches his attention. He answers with an affirmative noise, his voice still rough with sleep.

Andre opens the door a few inches, eventually steps into the room when he sees Jean-Eric is awake. He is dressed in jeans shorts and sneakers, his short sleeved shirt hanging open from his shoulders. Sunglasses cover his eyes and the dark circles beneath them. The glass of his wrist watch sends bright reflections to flit across the walls and ceilings as he moves.

Jean-Eric allows his eyes to run all over him lazily, too tired to add the mischievous smirk to soften the edge of want that has to be clear all over his face; it's been a long year and the ongoing tease between them that started as a joke has taken a life of its own by now. He isn't sure where they stand any more.

“Come on, let's go,” Andre says, his voice low.

“Hm?” Jean-Eric's brain feels sluggish trying to remember if they had anything planned.

Andre cocks his head, leaning his shoulder against the door frame as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Get dressed and let's go.”

Jean-Eric sits up in bed, rubbing his hand over his face to wake himself up. “Where to?”

Andre shrugs. “We'll figure something out. Come on.” He turns, one hand on the door handle. “Five minutes.”

 

 

Andre has picked the convertible from the rental cars at their disposal, playing with the key ring as he waits for Jean-Eric outside the quiet house. He moves around the car, sliding into the drivers seat before Jean-Eric can protest and starts the engine even before Jean-Eric has joined him. He relaxes into the passenger seat as Andre backs the car out of the drive way and onto the deserted island road.

From Elia, the only way they can go is north. With the small size of the island, it doesn't take long to reach an intersection, and Andre chooses to head East, away from the signs indicating the island's capital. The country road is narrow and twisted, and they aren't in a hurry.

They have black coffee and some flaky pastry in a small bar by the roadside, watching elderly men play backgammon and discuss politics in the shade of a big umbrella, the still rising sun slowly heating up the pavement and chasing the town cats into the shade of the bar and surrounding buildings. With its white walls and colourful roofs and decorations the town, not even a real speck on any map, looks like out of picture book. Jean-Eric wonders if Andre brought his camera, so far he hasn't seen it. He doesn't know why that irks him.

“You should have brought your camera,” he says when he's reached the bottom of his cup, swirling the ground coffee at the bottom in the last of the strong brew.

Andre drags his gaze away from the men at the next table, but his eyes are still hidden behind the mirrored shades of his glasses. “I want to spend time with you.”

Jean-Eric huffs a laugh. “We've all been cooped up together for days now.”

“Yeah, all of us,” Andre agrees, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Makes you feel a little claustrophobic, doesn't it.” He sits forward, pulling his wallet from his backpocket and leaves a couple coins on the table before he gets to his feet. “Let's go.”

 

 

They drive all over the island. They don't really talk, both hanging after their own thoughts, but there's something calming about the purr of the engine and Andre's smooth driving style that makes Jean-Eric relax next to him, something that makes the tension knots at the back of his neck unwind, and he pushes his head against the headrest of his seat, closes his eyes for a couple seconds.

Around midday Andre steers the car down an ever narrower road, until it turns into a gravel path and dips down towards the shore. The little beach is surrounded by steep cliffs. One or two other cars are parked at the bottom of the road, where only a couple dry bushes divide it from the sand, but it still feels deserted.

Andre gets out of the car, disappears behind it and opens the trunk. Jean-Eric reaches out to crank the rear view mirror towards himself, watching him.

“I didn't pack swim shorts,” he says. A moment later, a pair of swim shorts sail in an arc across the car, landing neatly in Jean-Eric's lap. He spreads out the wrinkled material: they're not his own, a pair he's seen Andre wear over the last days. “Thanks.”

Andre shuts the trunk. “You coming?” he asks again, and heads down the beach, a blanket under one arm, a bag with other stuff in his other hand.

Jean-Eric leaves his sneakers in the car, walks barefoot over the hot sand. Huge rocks and tide pools cover both sides of the beach, rising up to steep cliffs that keep out the stronger winds. The stretch of sand in between is impeccable, barely any footprints in the smooth surface. He follows Andre down to the waterline. Andre shakes out the blanket, then dons his swim shorts and runs straight into the waves. Jean-Eric watches him dive into the water, then changes into the spare pair of shorts too. He lathers himself in sunscreen and flops down on the blanket, dragging one of the towels to cover his head and eyes and dozes off.

He is pulled from the edge of sleep an undetermined amount of time later, when cold drops of water hit his chest and stomach. Blindly and cursing loudly, Jean-Eric swats at the air, but Andre only laughs. The towel on his head slips to the side, and he can see Andre wringing out one of the towels over him.

“Don't want you to get heat stroke,” Andre explains and fold up the wet towel, unceremoniously dropping it onto Jean-Eric's face who can barely avoid it. But Andre is right, the towel damp and cold from the tangy salt water is refreshing, and Jean-Eric pulls it across his head instead, just so looking out under the edge of it.

The silence that's been following them around all day should feel oppressive, but somehow it doesn't. After days of noise and talking, of crowded rooms, dancing and cheering, they both covette the change in pace. They barely talk, and when they do, their voices are low, as if afraid to break whatever peace is tying them together. When Jean-Eric later returns from his own dip in the chilly water and lies down on the blanket, he finds his lower arm touching Andre's where it rests on the blanket, and he doesn't move away.

They leave the beach late in the afternoon, the sand still sticking to Jean-Eric's feet and chafing slightly when he pulls his sneakers back on. In a small town they find a tavern that's filled with what seems everyone of the town and the surrounding villages, and hasn't seen a tourist in weeks. The menu is in Greek only, and it takes a while and some communicating with their hands until one of the teenage girls turns into a translator, using her broken school English to help them, flushing adorably when they start showering her with compliments, much to the amusement of the older patrons and the matron who makes the girl blush even more when she tries to make marriage arrangements for the girl.

In the end, the novelty of the strangers wears off quickly though. Their table is at the end of the patio, lit by the lanterns in the middle of the table and hung in the trees in the adjoining garden, the brighter light from the restaurant spilling out through the large open windows and doors. They order a couple of smaller dishes to be shared and a jug of the light local wine mixed with sparkling water.

“This is nice,” Jean-Eric says between two mouthful of food, half of which he only vaguely knows what it is made from, but all of it delicious.

“Yeah,” Andre agrees. He's leaning back in his chair, the elbow of his left arm propped up on the armrest. He's holding his wineglass in his hand, pressing the ball of it against his chin thoughtfully. The condensation has dampened his skin. With a frown, Jean-Eric notices that he's not wearing his usually every present wrist watch. He must have taken it off at the beach, or left in the car, the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist visibly paler where the band and clasp would usually shield it from the sun that has tanned both their bodies with a deep bronze hue over the past days. It feels weirdly intimate, that vulnerable bit of skin, and Jean-Eric averts his eyes. “You okay?”

Jean-Eric looks back up, covering his fidgeting by reaching for his own glass, taking a long sip. “Yes. Just... thank you. Today was really nice.”

Andre's lips twitch in a lazy smile. “I know. I did this just as much for me. Don't get me wrong, I love them all, but they were driving me crazy.”

“I need a vacation from my vacation,” Jean-Eric muses, and Andre laughs.

“Yeah, something like that.” He pauses, looks out into the darkness of the garden, then sets down his glass. “It's amazing though, isn't it? The whole season, you're champion, and now this. It's just...” Andre shakes his head.

“Feels unreal, yeah,” Jean-Eric agrees. “Won't be real until the first race next season, I think.”

“When everyone calls you champion, you mean,” Andre says, and his foot nudges against Jean-Eric's under the table playfully.

“You can start right now if you want,” Jean-Eric returns, and there it is again, this easy flirting they've been falling into right from the start, the public teasing so natural that it leaked into their free time. It's addictive, and Andre gives as good as he gets.

“You tell that all your girls? 'Call me Champion, babe?'” he says, imitating Jean-Eric's accent and making a rolling motion with his hips that makes the heat rise to Jean-Eric's cheeks.

“Fuck you, arsehole.”

“You love my arse, Champ.”

Jean-Eric kicks him again and they tussle for a moment, caught up in the childish game until Andre pushes his chair back far enough that Jean-Eric can't get at him any more without sliding down below the table gracelessly.

 

 

The headlights of the car creep along the winding island roads ahead of them. Jean-Eric isn't sure where on the island exactly they are, how long it will take them to go back to Elia, but he is comfortable in the near-darkness, the sky alight with so many more stars than he's used to seeing anywhere else.

“I'm grateful for this,” he admits into the darkness, continuing when he hears Andre's questioning hum. “For this year. For the team.” He pauses, but they're alone under the endless sky and he knows they should acknowledge what's going on at one point. “For you.”

“Yeah,” Andre agrees, his voice barely rising over the sound of the car and the tyres going over the gravel roads.

“I'm serious,” Jean-Eric insists, reaching across the middle console to swat Andre's leg. “This feels like...” Home. Family. He pauses, unsure what word would fit it best. In the end he shakes his head. “I didn't know this was possible.” Not after all the shit that had piled up over the years.

“You're happy,” Andre muses. His eyes are fixed on the road, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. “That's why you don't want to have sex with me.” It's a punch to the gut. The words hang in the air between them, but Andre's tone isn't angry or judgemental, it's as calm as he's ever been, like he's just stating facts. “You think it's going to mess things up between us, in the team, in your head.” Andre glances sideways, catches Jean-Eric's eyes for a second. “Is that what happened before?”

“Stop,” Jean-Eric tells him. They don't talk about before.

“I wasn't sure, you know. Whether you were just playing along for the public, whether you're okay with all the shit we've been pulling this year. But you're afraid it's going to ruin things between us, so you just play the game and put it away as just that, a game, a joke.”

“Don't do this, Andre,” Jean-Eric whispers, begs almost. “Not when it's good.”

“Is it good?” Andre asks back, and there's something rough in his voice for the first time. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I just want to know where we're at, because honestly, it's exhausting, in a way.” He stops, and then drops one hand from the steering wheel to his lap, where Jean-Eric's hand is still resting on his thigh, never having pulled it back, startling Jean-Eric. “And you're still touching me.”

The coast is twinkling in the distance, announcing their arrival at the mansion won't be far away now. After a couple minutes, the road turns from the hills to run parallel with the water, houses sprouting on both sides of it.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up,” Andre says, the silence in the car oppressive for the first time all day. He parks the car among the others close to the mansion, shuts down the engine but doesn't get out yet. They listen to the engine tick as it cools down. “I'm fucking this up.” Andre lifts his hand, the left one, the one that is not still covering Jean-Eric's on his thigh and runs it through his short hair, and Jean-Eric catches sight of it again, of that small stripe of pale skin around his wrist that looks as vulnerable and personal as the last minutes in the car, the most personal they have been all day, all week maybe, Andre showing him a little of what is going on in his head, behind all those smiles and media bravado.

Jean-Eric pulls his hand from beneath Andre's, can already feel him recoil to the far side of the car, reach for the door handle, but he is faster. He grabs him by the shoulder, hand sliding to the back of Andre's neck, pulling Andre towards himself. Their lips meet like they should have done hours, days, weeks ago. Andre makes a soft noise, the muscles in his neck that Jean-Eric can feel beneath his palm relaxing, and then licks into Jean-Eric's mouth, taking control of the kiss as if staking claim now that he's been allowed access.

They make out like teenagers in the driveway to their parents house, sheltered by the darkness in the street, away from their friends inside the mansion, from the eyes of cameras or smart phones or the public. Andre kisses like he's starving, like he wants to consume Jean-Eric, showing the longing that's built up between them over the past months without holding back, and it's scary in its intensity, but for once Jean-Eric doesn't feel like he's been held at arm's length, like he isn't the only one that needs this, and that quietens some of the voices at the back of his mind that tell him it's too much he's willing to risk, again.

They catch their breath after the first wave of longing has passed. Andre huffs out a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against Jean-Eric's, fingers carding through his hair that's gritty with the residue of salt water and sand.

“Don't tell me this is just another tease,” Andre says smiling, and Jean-Eric leans back in, kissing him again.

“It's not.”

“Good, because I want to take you inside and fuck you.”

Jean-Eric groans and pulls away, leaning into the corner his seat forms with the door of the car. He looks at Andre, really looks at him for the first time in a while, bathing in the heated gaze and tension between them. Andre mirrors him, unabashedly reaching down to adjust himself in his shorts. “But the others...”

Andre smirks. “Come on, I've got an idea.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Jean-Eric murmurs against the skin of Andre's neck. Andre shushes him, adjusting the firm grip he has on Jean-Eric's thighs. He is carrying Jean-Eric piggyback up the stairs to the house.

“Remember, you're asleep."

In return, Jean-Eric bites him teasingly, but then closes his eyes when he hears the voices from the others inside the house, playing along. It works surprisingly well: maybe because the others are already drunk again lazying by the pool and greet their return with just a cheer, don't get up to examine too closely. Andre dishes up an excuse of too much sun, and with barely any delay walks them up the stairs to the upper floor where the bedrooms are.

On the landing, he sets Jean-Eric down, turns in the circle of his arms. “See, worked.” He presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Go ahead, I'll be right back.”

Jean-Eric looks after him, then turns and opens the door to his room. The windows are still open, the bed still as messy as he left it in the morning. He toes off his shoes, chucks off his shirt and sends it flying towards a chair. The sheets are soft when he falls back onto them. There is no light switched on, but the lamps around the pool outside and the water send reflections to ripple across the ceiling, creating twilight in the room. Jean-Eric stares at them, listening to the distant sound of laughter and voices, the beat of music from below, and feels like he's come full circle.

His hand rests on his bare stomach. His skin is a little itchy from the dried sea water, and he scratches lazily around his belly button, down to the waistband of his jeans shorts. He's still hard, having rubbed against Andre's back when he'd carried him, and the memory sends a jolt of heat through him, prompting him to thumb open the button, push his fingers down to his cock. He grabs himself, moving his hand up and down his cock with a couple languid strokes, sighing gently. When he licks his lips, he can still taste Andre there.

The door opens and Andre slips through, closing it quickly. When he sees Jean-Eric prone on the bed, he exhales sharply, the chilled water bottle he's carrying almost slipping from his grasp. He leans back against the closed door, his eyes glittering darkly. “If I'd found you like this this morning, I'd never have let you leave the bed.”

“Yeah?” Jean-Eric's voice is breathless. He can feel his cock pulse in his hand, precome making his palm slide over it smoothly as he keeps jerking himself. “Come here.”

Andre circles the bed like a predator his prey, but doesn't come closer. “Show me,” he says and sits down on the chair, pushing Jean-Eric's shirt to the floor and placing the water bottle down next to it.

“Who is the tease now?” Jean-Eric says, then groans. He props up one foot to get some leverage, unzips his shorts to give himself a little more space, trying to look enticing, but Andre leans back in the chair, legs splayed lazily and feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. Jean-Eric sighs and closes his eyes. “I'm not going to last.”

“I know.” There's a definite smirk in Andre's voice and Jean-Eric looks at him. Hunger is written all over his face. “I want to see it. You know how often I thought about this?” he asks, his voice rough and breaking at the end, betraying the honest emotion behind the words, behind his cool exterior.

“Fuck,” Jean-Eric curses, and lets go of his cock to push his shorts and underwear down his arse, struggles to pull his legs free and kicks them off the bed. The air in the room is cool against his heated skin, damp with perspiration. His dick is stiff, standing eagerly from his body. “Happy now?” he asks breathlessly.

Andre smirks again, but the muscles in his crossed arms flex involuntarily as if wanting to touch, and the little tell is enough to give Jean-Eric a boost in confidence. He runs his hand down his stomach, seeing Andre follow it with his eyes. He palms the head of his cock, hissing as he gathers up more precome and then starts stroking himself.

“Is that how you like it?” Andre asks after a couple seconds, his eyes flickering up to Jean-Eric's before focusing on his dick, which Jean-Eric is stroking in a white-knuckled grip. Jean-Eric makes an affirmative noise, too focused on the pleasure that's racing through his body, strung tight under the attention. He reaches down with his other hand, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh at the inside of his thigh, then cups his balls, massaging himself. Andre shifts restlessly on the chair, his cock bulging the front of his shorts in a way that must be uncomfortable. “You don't know how often I'd hoped to walk in on you, somewhere, like this,” he admits, his tone reverent. “Do you fuck yourself on your fingers, too? Fuck, you're gorgeous.”

Jean-Eric moans his name, pushing his hips up into his fist. He is close, so close. There's more encouragements coming from Andre, shamelessly spurring him on, leading him right to the edge, and Jean-Eric lets himself fall, squeezing his eyes shut when he comes, stroking himself through it as drops of come spill from his cock, onto his stomach, his chest.

When he opens his eyes after a couple steadying breaths to calm his racing heartbeat, Andre has gotten up from the chair, standing close to the side of the bed. He has lost his shirt and his gnawing on his lower lip. Their eyes meet, and Andre almost collapses onto the bed, crawling over Jean-Eric's heaving body until he is propped up on his elbows on either side of Jean-Eric's head, staring down at him.

“Thank you,” Andre whispers, and it is so not what Jean-Eric expected him to say, that it takes him a moment before he returns the kiss Andre presses against his lips, his mind sluggish after his orgasm. He sighs when Andre ends the kiss, tilts his head up to allow Andre access to his throat as he moves down his body, touching and licking all over his chest. Jean-Eric watches him through hooded eyes. He lifts one hand to card his fingers through Andre's hair and clenches his stomach muscles involuntarily when Andre licks through a pool of his spunk. “You taste so good.” He pushes himself back up, laughs when Jean-Eric tries to squirm away but then gives in to the kiss, tasting the salty tang of his own come on Andre's tongue. “You prissy where I put my mouth?” he teases, licking up over Jean-Eric's cheek to his ear, only laughing more when Jean-Eric insistently swats him away.

Andre moves down his body again, stopping to lavish attention to Jean-Eric's nipples, his belly button, the jut of his hip bone. He looks up to catch his gaze before running the tip of his tongue down the length of Jean-Eric's flaccid dick, making him clench his stomach muscles. “Too sensitive?”

Jean-Eric shakes his head. “A little,” he admits, but the sensation when Andre licks at him is exquisite, that razor sharp edge of too much making his nerves sing and heat flood his system anew. He squirms, but not enough to actually get away from Andre's mouth. Andre follows the grove between Jean-Eric's torso and his thigh with the tip of his tongue until Jean-Eric spreads his legs wider willingly, giving him more space, sucks a hickey into the inside of his thigh. Jean-Eric's hand is back in his hair, brushing through it, gripping it tight enough to make Andre hum when he licks over his balls, draws them into his mouth. He rests his cheek against the soft skin of Jean-Eric's thigh, looking up along his naked body, his eyes dark and a little wild.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice heated and rough, and Jean-Eric would agree to anything if it just meant to hear Andre sound like that again, keep looking at him like he wants to devour him.

“Do it,” he whispers, and Andre closes his eyes like he needs to collect himself, then slides backwards off the end of the bed to kneel on the floor. He grabs Jean-Eric by the ankles and tugs, drawing him down to the edge of the mattress. Jean-Eric flails a little, trying to find the floor with his feet, but Andre holds his legs, pushing them up and apart, spreading Jean-Eric out in front of him. Whatever protest was forming on Jean-Eric's lips at being manhandled is turned into a long moan as Andre mouths at his balls again, then lower, the tip of his tongue licking over his arsehole. “God.” It's been years since someone has done this to him, for him, since Jean-Eric has felt comfortable enough with anyone to allow this without twisting away. Andre's grip on his thighs is firm, holding him in place for his tongue to play around, lapping at him, making him shiver and waves of sensation and shame sweep through him. He feels too hot all of a sudden, can feel his spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

Andre is relentless, the singlemindedness he puts into every aspect of his life translating to the way he takes Jean-Eric apart with his mouth, licking and biting at him. Despite clenching his teeth, Jean-Eric can't keep the needy noises down, shudders when he feels Andre chuckle against him, leaning back to catch Jean-Eric's eye.

“Good?” he asks with a smile, and uses the moment Jean-Eric opens his mouth to answer to push one slick finger into him, and whatever answer Jean-Eric had wanted to give turns into a loud moan as he pushes his head into the sheets, closes his eyes. “They're going to hear you downstairs,” Andre teases and ducks his head, circling his tongue around where his finger is pushing into Jean-Eric slickly.

Jean-Eric can't help groaning, the idea of his friends hearing them - him - making him flush, even though he knows the music and noise he can hear filtering in through the open windows should be more than enough to cover up what he can't keep inside. And he doesn't want to. It's been fun and games to see how far they could take it over the season, how flirty they could get away with, before one of them had to deny it, had to laugh it off and push the other away, and he doesn't want that anymore, not now that they're allowing it to become real. He twists, nudges Andre's shoulder with his foot to make him look up, hold his gaze. “Let them hear.” If possible, Andre's eyes become even darker. “And by god, fuck me already.”

Andre smirks, presses a kiss to the inside of Jean-Eric's thigh as he languidly withdraws his finger, slicks them up with more lube and works two into Jean-Eric. “Yes, champ.”

Jean-Eric laughs, reaching down to stroke his fingers through Andre's hair and then tugs lightly, prompting him to move up along his body. “Come on.”

“You sure?”

Jean-Eric nods, even though he knows he'll feel it in the morning, two fingers not really enough. He's seen Andre naked before, it's hard not to when they spend so much time with each other, knows how big he is, and only gets that confirmed when Andre sits back, digging a condom and another sachet of lube out of the pocket of his shorts before he finally strips out of them. And Jean-Eric doesn't get disappointed. This isn't the casual glimpse of nakedness he'd caught while they got changed in some garage backroom over a race weekend, this is Andre showing off, unabashedly presenting himself, naked and turned on, his skin glistening in the blueish light, a soft sheen of perspiration covering his muscular body, and Jean-Eric sits up, eager to get his hands and his mouth on him while Andre rolls on the condom, adds more slick to his cock. Andre tastes like the sea when Jean-Eric licks at his collar bone, bites at his pecs, but Andre pushes him onto his back before he can catch his lips for a kiss.

There's something almost reverent about the look on Andre's face as he leans over Jean-Eric, shuffles in between his legs. Jean-Eric wraps his legs around his waist, drawing him closer, trying to spur him on, but Andre doesn't let himself be pushed, nuzzles at Jean-Eric's cheekbone, rests their foreheads together.

Impatience is tugging at Jean-Eric's nerves and he already wants to urge Andre on again, but then he feels the tip of Andre's cock at his ass, pressing in, and suddenly he's grateful for the slow pace, his body needing a little to adjust.

Andre exhales slowly as he sinks into him, his body tight and exuding heat that Jean-Eric only notices now that they're so closely entwined. A steady stream of murmurs falls from Andre's lips, praise, curses, Jean-Eric can barely make out half of it. He lifts his head, his nose rubbing against Andre's, lips searching to find Andre's and kiss him to break the trance he seems to have fallen into. Andre kisses back after a moment, chuckles softly into Jean-Eric's mouth. “You feel so good.”

Jean-Eric flexes his hips, and it's Andre who is unable to swallow a moan that turns into another warm chuckle.

“Tease.” Andre pulls back, making Jean-Eric's toes curl, and then thrusts back in deep, once.

Jean-Eric bites his lip. “Who's the tease?” he asks back, flexing his hips again, and like everything they do it turns into a kind of game, a tease, seeing who can draw it out longer, who gives in first to the need to set up a rhythm. They hold each other tight, arms around each other, fingers digging into muscles, blunt nails scratching over skin. There's no space left between them.

In the end, it's Andre who can't take it anymore. With a growl, his hand clenches around Jean-Eric's hip bone, holding him in place. It's not really harsh, nor fast, but the way he's thrusting into Jean-Eric steady and oh so deep has Jean-Eric cling to his neck, hands scrabbling at his shoulder blades. His cock is trapped between their stomachs, but he knows it's not enough, not with how he came earlier, but Andre is burning up in his arms, strung tight, so close.

Andre shudders, his breath hitching. He presses his face into the crook of Jean-Eric's neck. Jean-Eric cards his fingers into Andre's hair, his lips brushing over Andre's ear. “Let go, I've got you,” he murmurs, tightens his legs around Andre's waist. He gasps when he feels Andre's teeth bite at his neck, momentarily distracted before Andre pushes into him deeply and stills, his whole body quivering as he comes. His body relaxes, and for a couple minutes Jean-Eric just holds him, taking his weight, rubbing his hands up and down his back. “I've got you,” he says again quietly. Andre turns his head. His eyes are clear, unguarded, but hard to read in the dim, blue light in the room. He cups Jean-Eric's cheek and then they're kissing again, deep and slow and dirty, doing nothing to slow Jean-Eric's heart beat, his still riled up nerves. He whimpers softly.

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Andre ends the kiss, smiling when Jean-Eric tries to follow his mouth. He taps Jean-Eric's thigh lightly, easing his long legs from around his waist to stretch out on the sheets. His eyes close half way when he withdraws from Jean-Eric's body, taking a moment to take care of the condom, before he lies back down next to Jean-Eric, sliding one leg over Jean-Eric's thighs, roaming one hand up and down his torso. He smiles down lazily at him, his head propped up on one hand close to Jean-Eric's.

Jean-Eric leans up for another kiss, sighing when he relaxes into the sheets, his own hand covering Andre's, pushing it down towards his cock that is still hard and begging for attention. “We should have done this ages ago,” he ponders.

Andre nibs at his nose, nuzzles along his cheekbones, his eyebrows. “Nah, it would have been half the fun.” He closes his hand firmly around the base of Jean-Eric's cock and whatever train of thought Jean-Eric had stutters to a halt, fades away as Andre brings him to the edge again, drags another orgasm out of him, leaving him spent and pliant in his arms.


End file.
